


the way you look could seriously make nature dysmorphic

by unlshthfrckngbts



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, Trans Male Character, Transgender Mihashi Ren, abe is really soft but what else is new, i guess, they're sentimental third years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 20:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unlshthfrckngbts/pseuds/unlshthfrckngbts
Summary: “It’s not...that’s not what I meant," Mihashi says. He holds the garment up to his chest, and Abe notices it’s a little short. “It’s….”“A crop top?” Abe supplies when Mihashi seems to be avoiding saying it. The pitcher nods. “So?”“So?” Mihashi echoes, looking at Abe strangely. “Is that...okay?”“Why would it not be?”





	the way you look could seriously make nature dysmorphic

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a minute thanks to getting accepted into, preparing for, moving into, and completing my first semester of college, but no worries, i am back with soft abemihas ft. trans mihashi.
> 
> title is from ["heart swells / pacific daylight time" by los campesinos!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OGNqMnA7UFo)

“What time is it at again?”

“Hang on,” Abe says, rolling over to grab his phone and open the team group text. “Hanai says four, but Tajima said we can come whenever after two.”

Mihashi hums. “What time is it now?”

“One-thirty.”

Mihashi makes another acknowledging noise, and Abe closes the text and sets his phone back on Mihashi’s bed, where he’s currently sprawled out. He’d spent the night last night, as had become somewhat of a recurring habit the past year, and had only woken up about an hour ago. They’d been out with the team late last night, getting back to Mihashi’s house at nearly three in the morning, and he’d allowed himself to sleep in far past even his normal “sleeping in.” He’d expected that Mihashi would still be asleep when he woke, but instead he’d opened his eyes to see the blond definitely awake and shuffling through his closet.

And that’s what he’s been doing since. Abe has been quietly watching, sometimes switching to play a game on his phone or close his eyes and simply enjoy the comfortable silence and the warm early afternoon sun streaming through Mihashi’s window. They’re going over to Tajima’s place later for a graduation party for the team’s third years—for  _ them _ —and he can only expect another rowdy night. He wants to enjoy this current peace while he can.

Abe lets out a sigh, rolls onto his back, and closes his eyes for probably the tenth time that morning (or rather, afternoon). It’s hard to believe they’re graduating already. The actual ceremony isn’t until next week, but it’s all technicalities. It feels like just a month ago they were first years—meeting in that rough field he’d helped build, going to their first training camp as a team, winning and losing their first games and the accompanying triumph and defeat.

He inhales and catches the scent of the detergent Mihashi’s mother uses, and he remembers meeting Mihashi for the first time too—remembers his anxious stuttering and jittery movements, remembers how he initially wondered how the hell he was supposed to form a battery with this mess of a boy whose pitches could make him weep with joy but personality kept him hesitant.

Abe snorts. The juxtaposition of his first memories with Mihashi versus their current standings sounds like cliche writing of a manga Nishihiro might read. They had gone from strained barely-conversation between barely-friends to...well. Abe knows there’s a smartly placed hickey right beneath the collar of Mihashi’s sleep shirt that would strongly contrast the rather poor excuse of a friendship they held the majority of their first year, is the point he’s trying to make.

“Taka?”

Abe cracks an eye open to see Mihashi still standing by his closet, but facing him now. He’s holding a shirt on a hanger at his side with his other hand on his hip. There’s a small hint of a pout on his face. “Yes?”

Mihashi huffs. “I thought you fell back asleep.”

“I didn’t know you needed me to be awake while you decided what to wear,” Abe chuckles. He points to the hanger. “Is that what you’ve chosen?”

Mihashi looks down at the shirt like he’s forgotten which one it is, and he furrows his brows in thought. “It’s—well.” He holds it out in front of himself to inspect it and then looks at Abe. “Do you think it’d be...okay?”

Abe sits up on his elbows and squints. It’s a cream colored t-shirt with a maroon floral print. “Why wouldn’t it be? Are you thinking you’ll be cold? The weather is supposed to be nice, and I’m going to bring a jacket anyways that you could wear if you get chilly.”

“No,” Mihashi says, shaking his head. He’s still got a bit of a bedhead going on, and his hair bounces with the movement. “It’s not...that’s not what I meant.” He holds it up to his chest, and Abe notices it’s a little short. “It’s….”

“A crop top?” Abe supplies when Mihashi seems to be avoiding saying it. The pitcher nods. “So?”

“So?” Mihashi echoes, looking at Abe strangely. “Is that...okay?”

“Why would it not be?”

Mihashi lets out another huff, and Abe can tell he’s getting frustrated at being unable to convey what he means, but he’s really at a loss here. He waits until Mihashi finds the words.

“It’s not too—is it too  _ girly _ ?” he finally asks.

“No?” Abe doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question. “Have you seen what Tajima wears to the gym?”

“Yeah, but that’s  _ different _ .”

“How?”

Mihashi glares at him. “You know.”

Abe sits up fully now and looks at Mihashi directly. “You’re allowed to wear whatever you want, Ren.”

“But it’s...do you think the team—”

“The team,” Abe interrupts before he can entertain the idea, “is not going to care or think any differently of you. You know they won’t.” When Mihashi still looks unconvinced, he adds, “You don’t have to  _ prove _ anything. It’s a shirt.”

Mihashi frowns and looks down at the shirt again. “Yeah, but. Boys don’t really wear...this.”

Abe considers for a moment. “Toss it here.”

“What?” Mihashi asks, startled.

“Lemme see it,” Abe reiterates, already pulling his sleep shirt over his head. Mihashi looks at him stunned for another moment before removing the shirt from its hanger and throwing it in his direction. Abe snags it out of the air and puts it on, sliding off Mihashi’s bed to stand up in front of his boyfriend. He holds up his arms in display.

The shirt definitely isn’t his size. It’s one of those things that’s meant to be a little baggy, but on him, it just about fits. He catches sight of himself in the mirror—face a little scruffy, shorts a little twisted from sleep, and shirt just little in general. Maybe if he’d still been a scrawny first year, it would’ve had a better chance at fitting, but it’s impossible to deny that he’s grown since then—vertically and horizontally. What can he say? Mihashi loves to cook and bake, and Abe loves Mihashi. He was bound to get at least a little doughy, even with Momoe’s absurd training menu.

Mihashi looks like he’s trying to hold back a giggle. “What are you—”

“Am I a boy?” Abe asks.

That earns him a strange look. “Yes.”

“Am I currently wearing a crop top?”

“...Yes.”

“Then there you have it,” Abe says. “Boys can wear crop tops. There was no invisible force preventing me from putting it on, so you should be just fine.”

Mihashi is definitely suppressing a smile now. “But will you be able to take it  _ off _ ? It looks a little...small.”

Abe tries to ignore the sass, but when he genuinely struggles the tiniest bit to get the damn shirt off, Mihashi full on  _ laughs _ at him, and he cracks a small smile. “It’s just further proof it’s meant for you to wear it, not me.” He places the garment in Mihashi’s hands and returns to his bed, opting to lay on his stomach at the foot of the mattress. There’s a text from Tajima on his phone, asking where he and Mihashi are because “ _ help i wanted you two to come early so i wouldnt get stuck helping make food i trusted you guys you assholes im going to poison your food specifically _ ” with an attached photo of him, frowning in an obnoxiously frilly apron and holding a pair of tongs. Abe snorts and looks up to show the text to Mihashi, but the words die in his throat.

Mihashi is standing in front of his mirror with his back to Abe, and he’d managed to somehow get fully dressed while Abe was distracted on his phone. He’s wearing the crop top with a pair of cuffed jeans, and Abe watches as he busies himself with his unruly curls, fruitlessly trying to tame them so it isn’t quite as obvious which side he’d slept on last night. When he catches Abe’s gaze in the mirror, he turns around sharply and fiddles with the hem of the shirt, almost looking guilty.

“How does it…?” he trails off, eyes flirting between Abe’s face and the floor.

“Come here,” Abe says, and he cringes at how raspy it sounds even to him.

But Mihashi obeys, coming to stand in front of his bed while Abe leans up on his elbows at the edge. As soon as he’s close enough, Abe wraps his arms around Mihashi’s waist and buries his face in the pitcher’s half-exposed stomach.

“Taka?” Mihashi asks softly, sounding torn between a laugh and confusion.

“You look so good,” Abe manages, speaking into the soft cotton fabric. He feels long, familiar fingers card through his hair, and he tilts his head back just far enough to meet Mihashi’s wide eyes, constantly seeking validation. “You look so  _ handsome _ .”

Mihashi sputters, looking away and covering his rapidly reddening face with one hand. “D-Don’t say that. It’s embarrassing.” When his voice cracks on that last word—as it’s been prone to doing since he’d started his testosterone shots earlier that year—Abe’s sure there has to be a new word coined for the shade of crimson his face becomes.

Abe just tightens his arms around his waist and muffles a tiny laugh into his shoulder.

“Hey,” Mihashi whines, flicking the back of Abe’s head. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you. You’re just...cute.”

“You’re being really embarrassing today! I’m gonna—I’m gonna tell the whole team that you’re a  _ softie _ .”

“The first years will never believe you,” Abe says with his cheek pressed to Mihashi’s skin, glancing up in time to catch his sour expression. He laughs again at that, a little stronger this time, and smothers it into Mihashi’s belly.

Mihashi yelps. “That tickles!” When Abe’s only response is a mischievous glint in his eyes, he tries to squirm away, but the catcher’s arms keep him in place as he blows a raspberry beside his navel. Laughter bubbles out of Mihashi and he playfully shoves at Abe’s shoulders, trying to free himself. “Stop it!”

Abe kisses the area softly in an apology, then looks back up at Mihashi. His cheeks are rosy and there’s still a hint of a giggle on his lips, and again, Abe is reminded of just how much he’s grown—how  _ they’ve _ grown—and how everything is going to be changing again soon. They’re going to the same university—Abe had worked like  _ hell _ on his academics to make sure his options could be even half as wide as Mihashi’s baseball scholarships—and are even going to be sharing an apartment, but this current chapter of their lives is drawing its close. The past three years, he’s gotten to watch how Mihashi grew into who he is today, and he’s been allowed to stand by his side through the entirety of it: the good and the bad, the soft and the happy and even the so, so ugly. He’s witnessed near every facet of his pitcher, from his blinding, celebratory grins in the dugout after a winning game to the vicious, terrifying anxiety that would leave his whole body trembling for half an hour. He’s seen the easy expression on Mihashi’s face when he wakes up in the morning, gone with him to doctor’s visits and consults, stood with him after a bitter defeat as tears stung their eyes and they bowed to the cheer squad. He’s been present for it all.

And the thing is, Mihashi wants to keep doing it. He wants to keep Abe by his side as they enter this new chapter—together. He has no clue what the future holds, but he’s sure of one thing: he wants to stay with Mihashi, hold on to what they have, and Mihashi wants the same.

Abe knows he’s got a stupid and sentimental look on his face, but he can’t even manage to care. He’s probably looking at Mihashi like a pathetic, lovesick puppy, and it’s entirely fine by him.

“You look kind of…” Mihashi says finally, smiling down at him as his fingers curl in Abe’s hair.

“Yeah?” Abe hums. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

“You’re so—” Mihashi’s hands slide to cup his face as he leans down and kisses him, “—dumb. And soft. God, I used to be afraid of you!” He taps Abe’s nose. “Now look at us.”

“That’s what I was thinking about, actually,” Abe says, untangling his arms from Mihashi’s waist and sitting up. He ignores the tiny twinge of guilt in his stomach from Mihashi’s comment.

“What, me? Being afraid of you?”

“No, just everything in general. Us.”

Mihashi sits down on his bed, facing Abe, legs folded underneath him and hands in his lap. “A lot has changed, hasn’t it?”

Abe can practically see Mihashi slip into his own thoughts, reminiscing just as he had a few minutes earlier. He stands up and ruffles Mihashi’s hair, watching as his eyes defog at the contact. “Yeah, but I’m glad. Let me get dressed and then we can head out, okay?”

Mihashi’s only response is a warm smile and a nod.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on [tumblr](http://unleashthefrickingbats.tumblr.com/) or [twitter!](https://twitter.com/unlshthfrckngbt)


End file.
